Chapter 13
The grand foyer of the Caruso estate, usually a masterpiece of white marble and cinematic light, was rapidly turning into a slaughterhouse. The New York Commission mercenaries had breached the massive front doors, pouring into the house with heavy automatic weapons.
Vincent’s elite guards had established a brutal kill zone at the top of the sweeping marble staircase. The sharp, deafening cracks of gunfire echoed through the high-vaulted ceilings.
Vincent stepped out onto the second-floor landing, moving with the terrifying, silent grace of an apex predator. He didn't shout commands. He raised his suppressed rifle and systematically began dropping the advancing mercenaries with flawless, surgical precision.
"Boss is on the line!" Silas roared, firing a burst from behind a marble pillar. "Push them back!"
The sheer, overwhelming violence that Vincent projected instantly shifted the momentum of the firefight. The mercenaries, expecting to overwhelm a disorganized security force, suddenly found themselves pinned down by a man who shot with the cold, unblinking accuracy of a machine.
"Flank them through the dining room!" the mercenary commander shouted from the base of the stairs, realizing a frontal assault was suicidal.
Vincent anticipated the maneuver. He moved aggressively, abandoning the high ground of the staircase, and sprinted down the secondary servant's corridor. He intercepted the flanking squad just as they breached the heavy oak doors of the dining room.
Vincent didn't seek cover. He stepped directly into the threshold, his broad, muscular chest protected by the Kevlar. He unleashed a devastating, coordinated barrage, neutralizing the entire five-man flanking team before they could even raise their weapons.
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He stood among the fallen mercenaries, his breathing perfectly even, the polished leather of his shoes stepping over shattered glass and brass casings.
"The flank is secure," Vincent spoke calmly into his comms. "Collapse the center. Do not let them retreat."
